


Good Boys Go to Shangri-La (Bad Boys Go Everywhere)

by Piinutbutter



Category: Far Cry 4
Genre: Drinking, Dubious Consent, M/M, Post-Canon, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-08-04 06:47:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16341845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piinutbutter/pseuds/Piinutbutter
Summary: Ajay’s been given an entire country and told to do whatever he wants with it. Problem is, he hasn’t thought about what he wants since crossing the Kyrati border.Well, that's not entirely true. There's someone he wants. But that someone is off executing innocent people and putting the fear of Kyra back in people's hearts or whatever the fuck he'd rather do than give Ajay the time of day.Bitter? Who's bitter? Not Ajay.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Pagan: *tortures, kidnaps, and enslaves hundreds of people*  
> Me: ...  
> Sabal: *pushes me*  
> Me: Okay first of all how fucking dare

“Kyrat’s free, brother. Mohan’s at rest too now, because of you. Come on home.”

Come on home. Funny. A hysterical joke. Ajay didn’t know where home was any more. There was nothing left for him in America, and he still didn’t belong in Kyrat.

He’d hoped he could make some sort of home with Sabal. But home didn’t greet you with blood, and for all Sabal’s talk of needing a right hand man, he couldn’t have made it more clear he didn’t give a damn about Ajay. Ajay’s arm was tingling far out of proportion to how hard Sabal had actually shoved him.

Which left Ajay with one question: What now?

He wasn’t going to crawl back to Sabal and beg to be taken back. Ajay was well aware he was kind of a complete and total doormat, but he had some pride, damnit. He didn’t want to go to Banapur; who knew what divine justice Sabal was raining down over there. He always had his homestead - not his father’s, _his_ now - but he had a feeling that if he holed himself up in there, he’d drive himself crazy wallowing and thinking about what he’d apparently done wrong, what he could have done better.

There was the palace. The lavish home of a tyrant, totally empty, practically handed over to Ajay. He could visit his mother again. And his...Lakshmana. But the whole palace was so _Pagan,_ so filled with Pagan's presence, that it didn’t feel right to step foot inside without the stupid, awful man inside it. Ajay hoped that whatever unfortunate place Pagan’s helicopter was heading to, it was prepared for him.

Ajay didn’t really know where he was going himself, but as soon as he buzzed himself up to the cliff in front of the Ghale homestead, his feet took a sharp left on their own. Yogi and Reggie, ever the slow-moving stoner stereotypes, still hadn’t vacated the premises yet. Good.

“Hey. I, uh. I think I’ll take that smoke now.”

Reggie took one look at his face and shook his head. “Ajay, my man. You look like you need a hell of a lot more than a smoke.”

“Just don’t stick anything in my ass.”

“Can do.”

 

* * *

 

Radio Free Kyrat headquarters smelled like socks, off-brand Axe body spray, and bacon. Ajay wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to it, but he was learning to put up with it. The copious amounts of alcohol he was sharing with the station’s esteemed host probably helped on that front.

He had no real reason for paying Rabi Ray Rana a visit, except that he’d spent the last five days fucking around with Yogi and Reggie, and even high off his ass he could only take so much of those guys. Rabi was - well, Ajay wasn’t sure if he could classify him as a friend just yet, but the man clearly liked Ajay and probably wouldn’t push him away and that was all Ajay wanted right now.

Realizing how pathetic that made him sound was one of the reasons he’d partaken in the drinks Rabi offered so enthusiastically. Ajay had been far from clean in his teen years, but he’d never been out of control like some of his ‘friends.’ It had never been a vice, an addiction. Now, he drank more than he ever had in one go, just wanting one night where all of this shit was somewhere far away from his mind.

Which was how he found himself waking up at two in the afternoon with a hangover delivered straight from Yalung, laying on a cluttered and mysteriously sticky floor with his back pressed against Chotu’s cardboard box. It took serious effort, but Ajay eventually managed to roll over and bury his face in his arms.

“Fuck,” he muttered into a tattered, grimy jacket sleeve.

“Fuck is right.”

Rabi’s voice was accompanied by a muffled bhangra rhythm. Ajay was jealous of the guy for being sober enough to be up and broadcasting already.

“Ajay. Holy shit,” Rabi continued, “You were amazing last night.”

That got Ajay to open his eyes. He didn’t remember much of last night, not after the initial round of drinks. He wouldn’t have put it above himself to...and Rabi had made that offer on the radio like the embarrassing idiot he was...and sure, Rabi was kind of cute in a dorky way, but...

“Did we, uh, do something?” Ajay croaked.

“Hell yeah we did!” Metal and paper shuffled against wood as Rabi reached for something. “We broke Radio Free Kyrat’s record for most simultaneous listeners. And this is after you’ve - let’s be realistic here for a second - after you’ve shot an enthusiastic minority of my audience, so you know it was good.”

Ajay wasn’t sure if the urge to puke was from the booze or the panicky shame bubbling in his stomach. “Rabi, what the fuck did we-”

“Here, here, no, c’mere. I made a highlights reel. Gotta keep it short and sweet for maximum viral potential.”

Ajay was still struggling to his feet - the booze had hit him harder than some of Yogi and Reggie's concoctions - when Rabi pressed play on his laptop. The recording started mid-sentence, with Rabi saying something Ajay couldn’t quite make out. And then Ajay heard his own voice played back to him. His own slurred, enthusiastic voice.

“Yeah...yeah. Yeah, you know what, fuck it! How about this: Sabal, you _suck_.”

Ajay’s stomach dropped out from under him and fell through the Earth’s crust, mantle, and core. On the recording, Rabi snickered, clearly a little buzzed but far more coherent.

“That’s one way to put it.”

“You do! You suck, and you’re a fucking _jerk_ , and, and...” A pause, filled with static and clinking bottles. “And you won’t shut up about my dad! Like - like, if you love Mohan so much, just go fucking marry him already!”

Both past-Rabi and present-Rabi burst into laughter. Ajay felt like he might literally die on the spot. He stumbled towards the laptop, but Rabi held up a hand. “Wait, wait, this is my favorite part.”

On the recording, Rabi spoke through his giggles. “That’d be hard, Ajay, given that Mohan’s dead and all.”

“So?” Ajay shot back. “Like, Sabal. Listen to me. Listen to me for once: Go dig up Mohan’s grave, and - and Longinus can hold a fucking ceremony. And you - you can threaten him at gunpoint to say Kyra instead of God or whatever. And it’ll just be all flowers and fucking rainbows, and Longinus’ll be like, ‘you can now kiss the corpse.’ Everyone’ll be happy!” Someone’s hands slammed against a table. Probably Ajay’s. “Hallelujah!”

“Praise Kyra!” Rabi whooped in agreement, then descended right back into a howl of laughter that was cut off as he paused the file.

“Ajay, my dude, you are fucking comedy _gold_ when you’re wasted and pissed. Like, prime-time quality content. But, serious talk - I need your input on titles. Do you think ‘Epic Resistance Leader Meltdown’ is too clickbaity?”

Ajay was not going to answer that. He hunched over one of the room’s creaky chairs, fingers gripping at chipped paint. “And you broadcast that? To the whole country?”

Rabi shrugged. “You were adamant Sabal hear you telling him off. Once I got you started on him, dude, you did not want to stop. Oh, and you should hear what you had to say about-”

“No. Please, god, no.” Ajay gave up on standing and sank into the chair, leaning over his lap to try and get some balance back into him. “Think there’s any chance Sabal was too busy to listen in?”

“If he was, someone’s definitely told him by now.” Rabi scooted over and clapped him on the back. “Ajay. _Ajay_. You are not allowed to feel bad about this, okay? Not just because it’s going to get me so much traffic, like, you don’t even know. Sabal’s an ass. Somebody needed to say it. Somebody being you, apparently, because I’ve been saying it for years but nobody listens to Rabi, of course.”

It amazed Ajay how talented Rabi was at making him feel worse about any given situation. The guy didn’t mean it, but Ajay heard the judgment underlying the words: Ajay had chosen Sabal. He’d chosen wrong.

He’d chosen to shed the blood still staining the shores of Jalendu.

Ajay felt another cold stab of regret, this time without the hot stirring of anger that usually followed. Maybe he’d gotten it out of his system last night. Whatever. He couldn’t take back what he’d said, and if Sabal wanted to have him executed for treasonous slander or something, so be it.

“I...” Ajay began decisively, then abruptly realized he had no clue what he was going to do. “I am...gonna go take a nap.”

When he began to move towards the front door, Rabi grabbed his shoulders. “Nope. You are in no state to operate heavy machinery.” He gestured at Ajay’s arms. “And those guns of yours totally count.”

Ajay did something he hadn’t for a while: He smiled. It was short-lived, but something about the fact that Rabi still found time to flirt with him gave this whole shitty situation an air of normality. “Point taken. You have something softer than the floor I can borrow?”

He didn’t know what time it was, but Rabi’s cramped little bedroom closet was dark when Ajay woke up to the crackling of his radio. Still groggy and hungover, Ajay fumbled for the device and thumbed it on.

“Ajay here.” It was more yawn than sentence.

“Brother. I think we need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I'm not proud of myself for making this reference. But I'm not _not_ proud of myself for making this reference.](https://youtu.be/V-PuS-1oKAg?t=312)


	2. Chapter 2

Ajay agreed to meet Sabal on the condition that Ajay was allowed to choose their meeting location. Now, Ajay waited on a sandy little island halfway between Utkarsh and Shanath. Far away from any outposts. He didn’t want anyone else around to hear Sabal losing his shit at Ajay. It wouldn't be a good look. Sabal was still the de-facto king of Kyrat, and Ajay still his de-facto right hand man - although he was sure that position was going to be revoked from him tonight. Ajay felt a responsibility to uphold some shred of the flimsy peace the country was feeling at the moment.

Ajay fussed with a broken zipper on his glove. Peace. That word had been thrown around so much when he returned from the palace. The moment he’d stepped past the first house in Banapur, an old farmer had thrown himself at Ajay, trapping him in a bear hug almost as vicious as an actual bear attack. 

“My boy,” the old man had said. “I’m sorry for doubting Sabal when he brought you here. You’ve given us the peace I never thought my children would see.”

Not five minutes after that, Ajay had to weasel himself out of telling two other children that their mama and papa weren’t coming back from the North. Ajay’d seen their bodies torn to chunks by a gatling gun.

The glove zipper snapped off in Ajay’s hand. He cursed and tossed it into the lake. Let a demon fish choke on it. These gloves were worn thin anyway. They’d served him well as the first line of defense against the teeth and beaks of whatever animal was in the mood to eat his face. 

Ajay’s lips curled up just a little as he thought of tracking Mumu Chiffon down to design a new pair of hunting gloves for him. They’d be furry and covered in sparkles. Ajay would rock them just to offend Sabal and the priests’ traditional sensibilities. They’d match perfectly with the tackiness of his current outfit, which consisted of stained jeans and one of Rabi’s neon yellow t-shirts. (The shirt had been loaned to him after he puked all over his own shirt and jacket. Rabi was smaller than him, and his shirt was tight enough on Ajay’s chest to prove it, but it would do until he could bother to get the laundry done.) 

Tacky shirt, old jeans, and painfully expensive sparkly fur gloves that should definitely be pink. He’d be the Golden Path’s ultimate disgrace.

Okay, maybe he was still a little drunk.

“Good to see one of us is still in high spirits.”

...Okay, he was definitely still a little drunk if he hadn’t even noticed Sabal approaching behind him. Ajay shot to his feet, turning around to face the rebel leader. 

Sabal looked like he’d slept four hours over the course of four days. His skin was sallow, his hair was falling out of its ponytail, and the tasteful stubble on his jaw had grown far past the threshold of stubble. He looked, well, like a man attempting to singlehandedly unite a country in flux under an iron fist. Ajay could see how well that was going for him.

“Look, Sabal,” Ajay started, his throat dry. “I’m sorry. I was drunk, and I fucked up, and I didn’t mean it.”

Except, Ajay thought, he did mean it. He shouldn’t have said them, but he meant every word that came out of his mouth. But this was Sabal he was dealing with here. It was always better to say whatever Sabal wanted to hear. It made everything so much easier, for everyone involved.

Sabal’s eyelids drifted to a state that wasn’t quite closed, accompanied by a short huff of breath that wasn’t quite a sigh. He looked so damn tired. Ajay felt a twinge of sympathy for him. He felt the instinctive drive to tell Sabal to rest, to relax, don’t worry, Ajay would take care of everything for him. 

God, he was such a fucking doormat. This was exactly the kind of thing that’d gotten him here in the first place, with so much innocent blood on his hands.

“Ajay,” Sabal said, and the ice in his tone was enough of a cold shower to shock Ajay into sobriety. “This isn’t about your little rant on the radio. Believe me, we’ll have a discussion about that later. But there’s a bigger issue here.”

_Yeah, like you killing a bunch of people. Let’s talk about that, Sabal._ Ajay chewed at his lip to stop that thought from leaving his mouth. “Yeah? What’s that?”

“You’ve been gone for days. You smell like drugs and alcohol.” His voice broke with barely-controlled anger. “You’re wearing another man’s clothing.”

It hit Ajay then. Really should have hit him before. The tension in Sabal’s jaw. The judgment in his dark eyes. The way he said _another man_ like it was a curse. 

Somehow he’d never considered that Sabal, who lived and breathed traditional religious values, might not be cool with the idea of guys fucking other guys.

Fuck. He was an idiot. All this time, looking at Sabal and thinking that Ajay wouldn’t mind putting himself in danger a few more times if it would make Sabal give him that gorgeous smile again. He’d just...he’d just assumed. He’d grown up in a place where - sure, America wasn’t perfect, but bisexuality was at least a _thing_ there, and it hadn’t even occurred to him-

Sabal wasn’t finished.

“How irresponsible can you be?” He began to pace, boots dragging on the sand. “You are the most sought-after man in Kyrat. You are second only to me. Any number of people are going to be aiming to earn your favor to meet their own ends. You can’t go around letting yourself be manipulated like this.”

Ajay’s mind froze in its whirlwind of worry. Everything inside and around him skidded to a halt, with the exception of Sabal’s incessant pacing. Ajay took a moment to take in what Sabal had just said to him. “I...”

Sabal evidently didn’t need a response from him. “Next time, give me a name so I can make sure you’re not compromising our entire mission on a selfish whim.”

“Oh my god.” Ajay’s brain started working again, and now the words were going to come flowing out whether he wanted them or not. “Oh my fucking god. You have gotta be kidding me. You want me to ask your permission to get laid? I’m not a kid, Sabal, and you’re not my...my dad.”

Ajay almost said ‘you’re not my mom.’ But comparing Sabal to his mother would have been an insult to Ishwari.

Sabal raised an eyebrow. “You’re not your father either. Mohan was dedicated to his cause.” 

Ajay scrubbed a hand over his face. “Ohhh my god. Shut _up_ about my dad. And shut up about my love life, for that matter. You really think that the only reason someone would sleep with me is because they want something from me? It’s just that inconceivable to you that someone would spend time with me because they like me, right?”

Sabal was unmoved. “You say you aren’t a child, but you’re certainly acting like one.”

“Yeah? So are you.” Ajay threw all plans of reconciliation out the window. He jabbed a finger at Sabal’s chest. “You had Amita and anyone who ever spoke nicely about her killed because you couldn’t even consider sharing your toys. That’s all Kyrat is to you, isn’t it? One big sandbox that you need to make _yours,_ to hell with everyone else in it.”

That got a reaction. Sabal’s back stiffened, eyes narrowing in offense. “What gave you the impression I don’t care about my people?” he snapped.

“Well, you certainly don’t care about me!”

Okay, so that was a bit more of his hand than Ajay had been planning to tip. Whatever. He’d fucked everything up already anyway. Couldn’t make it much worse. Sabal looked like he was ready for a fight, and Ajay’s body tensed in preparation for some sort of blow. He was ready for it. This had been a long time coming.

Instead, Sabal took a deep breath and stepped towards him. “Ajay. What makes you think I don’t care about you?”

Ajay had to do a double take at that. Sabal had called him by his own name for once. Not by his father’s name. Had Ajay’s rant actually gotten through?

This was his chance. This was his opportunity to tell Sabal off for everything that had been gnawing at Ajay since he’d seen Noore’s body ripped apart at his feet.

“You...” Ajay began, and immediately floundered. There were so many things he wanted to say, and now that it was his time to shine, he couldn’t think of a single one of them. He coughed and tried again, starting with something small. “At Jalendu. We’re supposed to be working together. You made up your mind and didn’t even listen to me. Then you just...shoved me away.”

He’d started off firm and confident. By the end of his pathetic attempt at a righteous speech, Ajay was mumbling and ready to bury himself in the sand.

Wow. He couldn’t even call Sabal an asshole to his face. Pagan must have been cracked out of his sociopathic mind to think Ajay could ever run Kyrat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a quick little ficlet but it just...keeps getting longer on me.


	3. Chapter 3

Sabal took a long breath. He smoothed his hand through his hair in a movement that only messed it up further. “I understand.”

A small part of Ajay said _Do you?_ A larger part was flooded with hope that they were actually getting somewhere here. That Sabal was listening to him and they could fix everything and get back to the dream they’d had for this country. 

(Who was he kidding? It was Sabal’s dream. It had always been Sabal’s dream. Ajay was just some foreigner with a lucky heritage and a penchant for violence who stumbled into the right place at the wrong time.)

“In my efforts to keep the peace, I have not been treating you as an equal. For that, I apologize. The son of- _you_ deserve better, brother.”

Ajay could breathe again. The sense of relief that flooded him just from those few words was overwhelming.

(That’s all it takes to win him over, huh? A few nice words? In that case, he should have stuck with Pagan’s regime.)

“Thanks,” Ajay said. “We’re in this together, right? I’ve, y’know. Done a lot for you. Because I believed in you.”

Sabal’s eyebrow rose at the usage of the past tense. “And now your faith is wavering. Because I’ve been neglecting you.”

“That’s...that’s one way to put it, yeah.”

Sabal stepped forward, past the line that divided ‘comfortable distance’ from ‘personal bubble.’ His hands came to rest on Ajay’s shoulders. 

“Ajay Ghale,” he said, voice low and assured, “I have suffered much in my life. Kyra has tested me in a number of ways, and I have borne them all with head held high. But the one thing I cannot bear is the thought of causing a fellow man to lose his faith.”

Sabal was so close to him. The scent of incense on his clothes was hard to find beneath the smells of gunpowder and blood.

“I’m here for you, brother,” Sabal said, and kissed him. 

It...wasn’t great. Sabal clearly wasn’t very practiced at this. But Ajay was so damn surprised that the press of lips against his sent a shock through his body all the same.

Two things occurred to Ajay during the short duration of the kiss:

1\. His lingering looks at Sabal hadn’t been as sneaky as he thought they were.

2\. Okay, so Sabal definitely didn’t mind guys kissing other guys.

Fuck. Ajay wished this had happened under different circumstances. Before Pagan was gone. In one of the quiet moments they shared, where Sabal’s natural confidence made him radiant in Ajay’s eyes. After Durgesh, maybe. Ajay had already been unsure of the path he was setting out on, but for Sabal to sit by his bedside, praying over him for who knew how many days...it affirmed Ajay’s desire to do anything to earn this stupid, beautiful man’s approval.

Sabal began to pull away, probably doubting himself after Ajay’s lack of response. Ajay grabbed Sabal’s dirt-stained coat, thought, _fuck me, fuck my life, fuck everything,_ and pulled him close until their bodies were pressed together.

(Easy. He was so damn easy. He’d been easy when he was a dumbass teenager, his grieving mother lecturing him on the dangers of drugs and crime and peer pressure, and he was easy now. _Watch the door for me, we’ll come back for you_ and _Just take this to the dropoff point, it’ll be fine_ had turned into _I’m here for you, brother_. All bullshit. All music to Ajay’s ears.)

Against Sabal’s dry, cracked lips, Ajay muttered, “Do you have any idea how many people I’ve killed for you...”

He let himself trail off. He’d been meaning to say _for your country,_ or maybe _for your cause_. But he hadn’t killed for Sabal’s country or his cause. He’d killed for Sabal.

“Enough, brother,” Sabal said, his hands reaching beneath Ajay’s jacket, which was suddenly far too hot for tonight’s weather. “Enough bloodshed. From now on, there will be peace. Rebuilding. Rebirth.”

It would’ve been great if Ajay’s head could trust Sabal as much as his dick did. 

“It was necessary, you know,” Sabal continued, his palms rough against Ajay’s skin. “To have a cleansing. Kyrat needs-”

“Shut up,” Ajay said, surprising himself with the ferocity of the words. 

Sabal was none too happy with that. One of his hands had wandered to Ajay’s neck. It pressed down, palm wrapping around Ajay’s throat in a silent warning that Ajay could still hear. _Watch yourself, Son of Mohan._

(Ajay was too tired to be scared of one man. It crossed his mind how easy it would be to shoot Sabal between the eyes and feed his body to a demon fish. Long live the king.)

“Just. Shut up,” Ajay continued. “Kyrat needs me. You know that. And all I need - the _only_ thing I’ve fucking asked for since I got here - is you. Is that too much to ask?”

For a moment, Sabal looked like he was considering a murder of his own. Then his hand relaxed, stubby nails trailing down Ajay’s collarbone. “No,” Sabal said, and the nails dug in. “If you want me, you’ll have me. And no one but me.”

As limbs tangled and Ajay’s bare back dug into the hot sand, it occurred to him that this wasn’t really what he’d meant. But he’d take it. 

God, would he take it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a fast author who finishes things in a timely manner, I know.
> 
> Also, [title source.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lDYAq4QI7sU)


End file.
